


Sweetest Downfall

by mr_mercutio



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Songfic (kind of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-27
Updated: 2012-10-27
Packaged: 2017-11-17 03:05:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mr_mercutio/pseuds/mr_mercutio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war tears Blaise and Theo apart and then thrusts them back together when everything is at its worst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweetest Downfall

**Author's Note:**

> So this was very heavily inspired by Regina Spektor’s song “[Samson](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p62rfWxs6a8),” and you will find the lyrics used as poetry in between sections of the fic. I don’t know if this makes this a songfic or not, but don’t let it deter you please. The war continues on in this fic and doesn't end during the year of Deathly Hallows, so you could call it canon-compliant up to HBP. Originally written for the 2008 Harry Potter Summersmut fest on Livejournal, and the fest post can be found [here](http://community.livejournal.com/hp_summersmut/46218.html).

_You are my sweetest downfall  
I loved you first, I loved you first_

  
He lies next to him in the bed, running his fingers through the soft brown hair upon the pillow. It is a brief respite, and the war continues to rage outside these walls, outside this bed. It feels as though it cannot ever cease, that every day will bring a new terror down upon them. For the moment, though, the world is confined to this small space between them, the only sounds imaginable are the gentle waves of their mingled breath.  
  
"Blaise," Theo whispers to him, his eyes still closed.  
  
He says nothing, brushing a silent kiss across Theo's brow. He doesn't say a lot when they find the time to meet like this; it feels as though words are failing him as time continues to trickle on. They lose their meaning gradually, like when a single word is repeated over and over until it becomes nothing but a sound without connotation. The sad cries of a creature that has forgotten who it is. Nothing is left but the grasping they do in the light of a single flickering candle, reminding each other that they still exist.  
  
He hadn't expected that they'd ever be on opposing sides in this battle.  
  


_Beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth  
I have to go, I have to go_

  
After Hogwarts was attacked, he'd left Theo in the hands of the Order and gone swiftly home. The empty mansion echoed with the silence that seemed to emanate from the crumpled body of their aged house elf, curled into a ball just beyond the door. The Dark Mark was etched into the ceiling, a violent vicious green against the dark wood, staring down with a snake-filled grin at him. A single piece of parchment lay atop the body.  
  
"We have your mother. Await further instructions."  
  
And so, the tattoo was carved into his arm, oaths of fealty and loyalty bitterly sworn. So many familiar faces with the same expression as his own, their families hidden away and their allegiance held in a grip of iron. Each to be used for their particular talents, each providing for the Dark Lord as best they could. "The child of a black widow must have learned something from its mother," the monster said when he was presented to it. It placed its claw under Blaise's chin, tilting his face up to meet its serpentine visage. "You will use your venom for me now."  
  


_Your hair was long when we first met_

  
It is a year before he sees Theo again. His memories of him are the treasures he keeps to himself in the dark, like dreams of a time that probably hadn't ever existed. Moments together like snippets of photographs from the Prophet, blurred together and fluttering in the wind of dimming memory. Shared laughter over something trivial. The ache of an argument lasting for days until one of them decided they were both behaving like fools and forced them together again. The rough touch of a hand in the night. He couldn't share these with anyone, terrified that if he opened his hands they would be lost in the breeze and then gone. Instead he clings to them while he lies next to a cooling body, waiting for the moment when he can dress again and go back to the empty manor.  
  
He catches a glimpse of Theo unexpectedly in the Alley, which is alternately a neutral area and a fiercely contested war zone. This day it is tentatively open for business as the witches and wizards who try so desperately to stay out of the war buy and sell what they can before another curse is thrown over their heads. Theo is buying something; Blaise isn't sure what it is and doesn't care. He looks worn down but oddly happy, and Blaise wonders where he has been for the past year. He cannot decide whether to call out his name or quickly walk away, but the choice is taken from him when Theo looks up and directly at him.  
  
They are still for long moments, the thin crowd moving around them like the current of a stream. Theo is the first to move, raising his hand and giving him a small wave. Blaise cannot pretend that there's no awkwardness there, that things are exactly like they used to be, but at least Theo hasn't turned and run away.  
  


_Samson went back to bed  
Not much hair left on his head  
He ate a slice of wonder bread and went right back to bed_

  
They spend the rest of the day together. Blaise says very little, letting Theo ramble instead about working with the Order, estranging himself from his father. Their hands brush against each other from time to time, taking some small comfort in the reminder of the other's solid presence. When night comes they go to the small flat Theo is renting and take turns pressing inside each other, the tight embrace of flesh around them enough to convince them of the idea that it isn't a dream sent to torture them when they wake up. Neither of them sleeps, instead staring at the other's dim silhouette until the sky lightens.  
  
For a few minutes they forget there is a war at all.  
  


_Beneath the stars came fallin' on our heads  
But they're just old light, they're just old light_

  
He isn't sure how long their affair lasts for before they're found out. They meet whenever they can, usually in Theo's flat. The manor is too cold without Mother being there, and the grimace of the Dark Mark won't come out of the ceiling. Sometimes they have days to spend in each other's arms, and other times it is only an hour or two before one of them is dragged away. Blaise always takes pains to conceal the tattoo before they meet, but he is sure that Theo must know. Once they found each other just after Blaise had returned from a mission and he spent the night curled into himself with Theo's arms around him, feeling too much the monster to even try to touch him. Theo has missions too, he knows. In some ways the Order is just as ruthless as the Death Eaters, it seems. There have been nights when Theo has been just as shaken as him, trembling despite the heat. Sometimes they make love to drive the chill away, the drive of flesh into flesh creating a universe unto itself into which the war cannot enter.  
  
At some point in a winter, Blaise isn't sure how many years after it all began, he is brought before the Dark Lord again. The monster stares into him, but Blaise has long ago learnt how to show it what it wants to see in his mind. His soul is a cold place except when his body is on fire with Theo, and it is no great task to play the willing servant. "We have been informed that you have been consorting with the blood traitor Nott," the thing says, tapping its talons on his cheek. "He is the worst of the traitors, his father a trusted and loyal servitor. We wish to make an example of him."  
  
His breath hitches despite himself, and the creature latches on to that enough to see the fleeting moment of desperation beneath the ice. "Yes, this will prove your worth to me," it hisses. "Don't forget that I possess your mother, Zabini spawn. You will dispose of the traitor and bring us a token of his death. You have three days."  
  


_Samson came to my bed  
Told me that my hair was red  
Told me I was beautiful and came into my bed_

  
The war clearly isn't going well for the Death Eaters anymore, and Theo is happier than Blaise has seen him in a long time. There's a lightness about his shoulders that Blaise can only barely recall from the days in which they were both still young, an easy happiness around his eyes that would be infectious if Blaise wasn't filled with a brimming poison. Theo wants to celebrate with him, and when Blaise comes to his flat that first night there are candles everywhere, dripping rainbows of wax onto the bare boards of the floor. Theo's enchanted some of them to float, which brings to mind the Great Hall at school. He wonders if the effect was intentional, designed to send them hurtling back to a time before the bleakness.  
  
"Lie down," whispers Theo, who is standing just beside the door. A bottle of something is in his hand, and Blaise hopes it's strong. He resolves to enjoy these three days that the monster has given him, and with surprisingly little effort he forgets about Mother who he hasn't seen in years, forgets about the shrouded Mark on his arm, forgets about the cruel red eyes boring into him, and is able to smile in response. He takes off his shirt in a fluid movement and lies back against the pillows, looking up at Theo.  
  
Taking a swig from the bottle, Theo sheds his own shirt and crawls atop him, a smile that is at once sly and so innocent brightening his sharp features. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs to Blaise, running the fingers of his free hand through Blaise's wavy hair. "Your hair looks like fire in the candlelight." Blaise knows that he's already a little drunk but doesn't care, taking the bottle and downing the sharp liquor inside before he kisses him. It's like they're on fire together.  
  
They make love slowly, their shadows merging into one fluid being against the wall in the flickering light. They dance and change shape, sometimes blending and sometimes distinct as Theo eases his way into Blaise. It is not until the candles have guttered into melted stubs that they fall asleep, too exhausted to fall to their usual sides of the bed.  
  


_Oh I cut his hair myself one night  
A pair of dull scissors in the yellow light_

  
The second day passes in a blur, colours and shapes indistinct and leaving only a vague impression on his mind. The only clear thing remains Theo, sharp and unclouded against the washed background. They cook together, a novelty that Blaise has grown to love. He doesn't really see what it is they end up eating, and only the flavour of something sweet and tangy remains with him. He reads to Theo from one of the books he had the presence of mind to bring with him from the manor's library, some old story by Beadle about Merlin. The day is quiet and would have passed by slowly if not for how time seemed to always move at a speed contrary to desire. The simplicity of it all is appealing, and the universe continues to expand and contract like breath only around them. They do not see another person the entire day.  
  
Theo lies asleep on his chest that night, while Blaise stares at his bag. The canvas is all that lies between him and the poison that he knows he must feed to Theo somehow before tomorrow night. Part of him wants to just do it now, while Theo sleeps unaware. He can't bear the thought of seeing the realization dawn in his eyes, doesn't want to see the direct evidence of the terrible reality of his betrayal. His hand twitches, inching toward the bag before he pulls it back. He can't, not tonight. There's still one more day. Theo murmurs something inaudible in his sleep, and Blaise brushes his hair from his eyes. In the dim light he sees them moving under the lids, and he knows that he is dreaming.  
  
“Blaise,” Theo whispers to him, his eyes still closed. Blaise says nothing and just brushes a kiss across his brow, locking the moment away in himself.  
  
There's still one more day.  
  


_And he told me that I'd done alright  
And kissed me 'til the mornin' light, the mornin' light  
And he kissed me 'til the mornin' light_

  
The last day ticks by in Blaise's heart like a dreadful clock, inexorably tightening around his neck as the sun climbs and then descends. He wants nothing more than to treasure each moment but the awful race of the minutes thumps in the back of his mind and drowns out any pleasure that he can pull from them. He can tell that Theo notices despite how hard he tries to hide it, and he wishes that he'd done it in the night when he'd had the chance.  
  
Theo kisses him as the sun sets, a fierce thing that surprises Blaise. They scrabble at each other in the vaguely yellow light of dusk, violently tearing at their clothes to get to the heated skin beneath. He wonders why Theo is so desperate to touch him, wonders if his own desperation has grabbed hold of him like a virus and dragged him into the same pit.  
  
“It’s alright,” whispers Theo between kisses, pressing his hardness against Blaise’s own. “It’s alright, it’s alright.” Blaise doesn’t ask what he means, just returns his kisses with fervour. The bag sits on a chair, watching them like a cat intent on prey. The poison inside it seems to crackle with an electric intensity, thrumming in time with their thrusts.  
  
“It’s alright,” Theo chants as he rids them of the rest of their clothes. Their bodies are drawn together as though magnetized, unwilling to be parted unless forced by some greater power. When Theo slides inside of him it is rough and raw, a burning that Blaise doesn’t want to give up. His heartbeat echoes in his ears, quick and damning as he spills himself over Theo’s fingers. Theo’s chant has turned into wordless cries as he loses himself in Blaise, and they cling to each other in the heady aftermath.  
  
“Do it now, Blaise. It’s alright, I understand, but do it now, please.”  
  
Their eyes meet and there is understanding like a terrible thread connecting them. He reaches into the bag and feels the tiny vial of poison immediately touch his fingers, as though eager and waiting. A drop or two on the skin is all it takes. It’s quick and painless, for Blaise has never been able to bring himself to enjoy the agony that some of the other assassins delight in inflicting. The glass of the vial feels cold, but he isn’t sure whether it is his imagination or not.  
  
He pulls it out and holds it over Theo’s heart, running his thumb over the cork of the stopper. It is the only part of the thing that is warm, lying between him and death. Theo takes in a deep breath, the fear starting to set in like the tide, and he nods once at Blaise and then closes his eyes.  
  
“I’m sorry,” whispers Blaise.  
  


_Oh, we couldn't bring the columns down  
Yeah we couldn't destroy a single one_

  
The glass shatters in a sparkling shower against the wall, catching the last vestiges of the light from the window. The poison seeps into the wood and is absorbed, drained into the memory of the trees that were the ancestors of the wall.  
  
Blaise wrenches himself away from Theo, a fountain of scalding tears breaking forth. His arm throbs where the tattoo is hidden, as though the monster has already seen his defiance. He knows that Mother is as good as dead, is probably dead already, and he finds that he mourns that he’d never found the chance to say goodbye more than the death itself. He isn’t sure whether or not that makes him a monster too.  
  
Theo’s fingers splay out gently on his back, tentative and shaky. Neither speak, and Theo slowly wraps his arms around Blaise’s stomach, pressing his face against the back of his neck. Blaise feels a damp warmth trickling down his shoulders, but that is the only sign that he is not the only one crying. He wraps one hand around Theo’s wrist and they rock back and forth together, staring into the blackness of the night.  
  
The Death Eaters break down the door at dawn, but they are already gone.  
  


_And history books forgot about us  
And the bible didn't mention us, not even once_

  
Theo takes him to some hidden house in London where a sombre werewolf and an imposing dark Auror question him for hours about everything he’d done in service to the Dark Lord. Blaise answers every question quietly and succinctly, never once letting go of Theo’s hand. If either of the two men notice, they say nothing. After many long days they decide to grant him amnesty in return for his information, meagre though it is. The werewolf tells him that people are forced to do horrible things during a war, especially when their loved ones are threatened. Blaise smiles weakly at him and nods but can't bring himself to be thankful for the forgiveness.  
  
They last out the rest of the war hidden away. He knows it is over when his tattoo flares up in pain and then dies, reduced to nothing but an ugly brand that lacks any magic at all. He isn't sure exactly what happened, and everyone has a different story about how the Boy Who Lived finally defeated the monster. He certainly doesn't care, and he's just glad the thing is gone. Everyone celebrates in their own way, and the streets around the Alley are flooded with what seems to be the entire magical population of Britain. Even those who were rooting for the Dark Lord seem to be at the least relieved that the war is finally over. Blaise isn't sure whether everything is actually finished with the death of the Dark Lord, but if there are any Death Eaters still at large they've gone into hiding.  
  
The dungeons beneath Malfoy Manor are opened after the Order raids the place, but nothing is found. No bodies, no dust, no evidence at all that anyone had ever been kept there at all. The souls that had been taken by the Death Eaters remained vanished, and Blaise knows that he will never see Mother again. For all he knows she'd never been kept alive in the first place. He can't bring himself to weep again. Theo's father is one of the Death Eaters killed in the great last battle, and they are brought to identify the body. They stare impassively at the old wizened corpse, and all Theo does is nod at the clerk taking down names. Blaise threads his fingers into Theo's own and they walk away.  
  
When the Order is called together to receive awards from the fledgling new ministry, they are not present.  
  


_You are my sweetest downfall_

  
He lies next to Theo in the bed of their rented room. France is the furthest they have been able to get from Britain so far, but they have quietly growing plans to keep moving around Europe for a few years. Blaise feels a small obligation to stop in Italy and tell Mother's family what happened, but they may not get there for awhile. It doesn't seem all that important.  
  
The sun is rising over the buildings of Paris, painting the walls in muted tones of pink and orange, and he sees that Theo is awake and smiling at him. They share a languid kiss and Blaise has never been so happy to not hear the ticking of a clock. "What do you want to do today?" asks Theo.  
  
Blaise smiles and covers him like a blanket.  
  


_I loved you first_


End file.
